Chapter 4 - The Interrogation Room
The sterile fluorescent lights of the District 14 precinct interrogation room hummed a low, abrasive tune that seemed to vibrate straight inside my skull. I sat at the metal table wrapped in a foil emergency blanket, a lukewarm styrofoam cup of black coffee sitting untouched between my trembling hands.
Across the room, the two-way mirror reflected my own exhausted reflection—hair disheveled, eyes rimmed with red, my cardigan still stained with the dark blue detergent I had used to defend us.
The heavy metal door clicked open, and Officer Miller stepped inside, carrying a thick manila folder and a small clear evidence bag containing the tiny metal key I had pulled from inside the casket.
"How is she?" I asked before he even sat down, my voice raspy and dry as sandpaper. "Is Chloe going to be okay?"
Miller pulled out the metal chair opposite me and sat down, offering a small, reassuring smile. "She's at St. Joseph's Children's Hospital under 24-hour guard. Doctors say her system was flooded with a heavy dose of veterinary-grade pentobarbital—the kind used to sedate large animals. It slowed her heart and respiration down enough to fake a clinical death for hours, but because you found her and got her oxygen in time, she’s going to make a full physical recovery."
A heavy wave of relief washed over me, so intense it made my knees weak. I closed my eyes, letting out a long, ragged sob that I had been holding back for hours.
"Thank God," I whispered, pressing my palms against my face. "Thank God."
"Your son and his wife are currently in holding," Miller continued, his tone turning sharp and professional as he dropped the manila folder onto the table. "They aren't cooperating. Julian insists that it was an 'experimental medical protocol' prescribed by a private specialist, and Victoria is claiming she had no idea Chloe was placed in the casket alive. But we executed a search warrant on their master bedroom about an hour ago. We found what was on their computers."
He slid a printed photograph across the stainless-steel table.
I looked down, and my stomach instantly heaved. It was a screenshot of an online financial forum—a dark-web escrow service specializing in fraudulent life insurance payouts for juvenile beneficiaries. Written across the top in bold letters was a payout total: Two point five million dollars, contingent upon certified natural death before age seven.
"They planned the whole thing," I whispered, horror coating my tongue like ash. "They needed the insurance money to pay off their gambling debts and foreclosure notices on the house. And when they realized the illness scam wouldn't pay out fast enough without an autopsy, they decided to... to bury her alive."
"Worse than that," Miller said grimly, leaning forward. "According to the preliminary search history, they didn't just plan this for Chloe. They had a second policy lined up for you, Mrs. Vance. Your estate was named as the secondary beneficiary, and their search history shows multiple queries on how to induce fatal strokes disguised as natural heart failure in elderly women."
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My blood ran cold. They weren't just monsters who tried to murder their own daughter; they were coming for me next, planning to tie up every loose end before the ink on the insurance checks could dry.
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